


Bloodied Cobblestones

by Assassination (samstoleaburger)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Nudity, Language Barrier, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pieces of Eden, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samstoleaburger/pseuds/Assassination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt like he was drowning, choking on sand. That he was dying as the blood continued to flow profusely from the deep gash on his side.</p><p>His throat felt dry, even if the hot crimson coated the insides. Opening his eyes halfway, dazed and tired, he turned his head to peer over his shoulder to the cracked open double doors. The choking sensation returned, his hand moving to curl the fingers around his neck, blood soon coating the callous digits as his breaths became raspy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was written the way it is for a reason. Also, I don't speak any other language besides English. So...google translate was used. If any of it is wrong, don't hesitate to correct me.
> 
> (Going to put the translations here because, apparently, some things have changed since I was last here:  
> Google translations:  
> 1\. Tenete gli occhi aperti! (Keep your eyes open!)  
> 2\. Apri gli occhi, dannazione! (Open your eyes, damn it!))
> 
> On another note: It's been a long time since I've touched this story, so I have no idea if this will either be gen or Ezio/Altair. We'll see.

Ezio darted across the rooftops of Rome, his breathing labored and hastening steadily with each step he took across the lightly shaded tiles. White robes fluttered behind him and even the red sash was twisting about, like a flow of blood from a wound. He swallowed thickly while he surveyed his surroundings, colors blurring and only reds along with a few whites sticking out of the 'darkness.'  
  
Reaching his hand down, Ezio grasped the hilt of his sword, gritting his teeth as exhaustion ebbed at his senses, urging him to stop and relax though his mind told him to hurry.  
  
He needed to get there as soon as possible. After Ezio had caught wind of his comrade being overwhelmed by their enemies, being pushed and shoved into a wall by frantic swings of blades and maces, he knew he had no time to slow to catch his breath. Ezio could hear the clangs of steel, hisses of pain and cries before death in the distance.  
  
No, he couldn't let that happen.  
  
The blur vanished as his veins pulsed, adrenaline kicking in, spurring him on by the thoughts of his friend being torn to shreds by the swords then tortured in inhumane ways. He wouldn't put it past the Borgia guards, not at all.  
  
Those men had tormented the citizens of this once beautiful city, Roma becoming ruins by the hands of corrupt and cruel men.  
  
Which is why they existed, the Order of Assassins. The Brotherhood. Their Creed.  
  
Ezio felt a something wet hit his cheek, causing him to jerk his head back to peer up at the skies. Another raindrop fell against his skin, little flecks separating at the contact and flying before the remaining water slid down the expanse of his cheek.  
  
Clouds began to grey over in color, a shrill of an eagle's cry assaulting his eardrums like thunder. The mournful calling caused his heart to wrench. Dropping his head to see Borgia guards rushing to a particular area. Swallowing and dropping to a crouch, Ezio followed silently. He leapt and grabbed onto a pole before hoisting himself up, all the while trying not to groan at the effort.  
  
Once he was perched atop, Ezio rested his elbows on his knees, crouched and watched the guards as they hurried toward their destination.  
  
Right towards a church.  
  
People were screaming in a fit of genuine panic. Shouting things about a bleeding man, how there was a fight, and so much blood.  
  
A bleeding man garbed in white…  
  
That was his comrade, his brother in arms.  
  
Turning toward the building, Ezio began to scale it with skilled accuracy, even as he turned his gaze back to the church while climbing. Clangs of blades reached his earshot, catching sight of the blood that was spattered upon the ground, shouts and screams. It was then that they ceased to cruel laughter, taunts and sick, prodding words.  
  
Apparently the man had retreated into the sacred place, a blood trail showing the new reinforcements where he'd gone.  
  
"Cazzo." Ezio hissed. Biting his cheek, he hauled himself onto the roof with his chest heaving as Ezio looked around to see if there were a chance he could surprise the men below and save his friend. There appeared to be no way to do so unless he did a head-on attack.  
  
Meanwhile in the church, Ezio's comrade was dragging himself to the alter, panting heavily while tired eyes rose to look upon the statue depicting their God. It seemed much better back when people didn't gather together for their religion, it did look like it would become a cult or an insane round-up eventually. Coughing up blood, he grunted, quickly placing his right hand over his side and applying pressure to hopefully cease the flow. However, the blood slipped through his fingers and onto the floor in small patches.  
  
Closing his eyes, he cursed the last guard he'd dealt with since the man had gotten a good shot at his side thanks to his being occupied with another guard. Such dirty fighting, though he couldn't blame them. He'd done the same when he noted how the word called 'honor' no longer existed while fighting.  
  
Parting his lips, he gasped and wheezed, pressing his left hand to the ground to push himself up as best he could.  
  
He felt like he was drowning, choking on sand. That he was dying as the blood continued to flow profusely from the deep gash on his side.  
  
His throat felt dry, even if the hot crimson coated the insides. Opening his eyes halfway, dazed and tired, he turned his head to peer over his shoulder to the cracked open double doors. The choking sensation returned, his hand moving to curl the fingers around his neck, blood soon coating the callous digits as his breaths became raspy.  
  
He remembered home, back in the dry, barren place. When searching and finding clean water was a trial. When traveling was long and tedious to a point. How his steed would be calmed by his touch and how the sun bore down on him, warming him to the point he would at times take down his hood.  
  
The hand on his side loosened, swallowing thickly to taste the coppery, tangy, substance that was still attempting to escape through his mouth.  
  
Lurching forth, he coughed violently, shifting his hand to cover his mouth to muffle the sounds in case there were more guards than the ones that chased him nearby. It hurt, his lungs began to burn and mind becoming encased within a mist that beckoned him to slip into unconsciousness. But he knew that if he did so, he would not awaken.  
  
A thought crossed his mind, on how he was left to live this life. When he was supposed to die so long ago and yet here he was, feeling true death.  
  
Did he honestly deserve to survive this long? What with his being so brash and thinking he could handle a simple handful of guards while the Recluta were ordered to retreat. How the guards found them while he was training them was a mystery that may never be solved.  
  
Leaning his head back against the wall, his hood then sliding off to reveal his face as he continued to pant, pain wracking throughout his system. His insides twisted and tensed, proving his question on whether he was dying or not.  
  
He was.  
  
It was obvious and yet there was the slimmest of chances that he'd survive to see another sunrise while drinking with Ezio, even if Ezio had irritated the hell out of him before. Now, it was nice to stop and converse about the ranks and who should be promoted.  
  
Now that was all going to end.  
  
The doors slammed open, causing him to jerk his head toward it, instinct causing him to reach for his minor supply of throwing knives. He stopped once he noticed the guard's horrified, terror-stricken face before watching the man fall to the ground in a puddle of blood that had spread about more with his contribution to it.  
  
Lifting his gaze up to who had dealt with the nuisance, he then realized that his sight was blurring. Black crowded in at the edges of his vision, the bright light that was cast upon the figure to shadow his front and basking atop him was dulling.  
  
Slowly his eyes fell shut as his shoulders slumped and began to fall to his side. He heard feet pounding the tiles and soon felt a hand grab onto him as an arm wrapped around his upper-half. Although his senses were falling and giving way to the cold embrace of death, he could still feel the warmth that radiated off the other man.  
  
The man shook him, tightening his hold.  
  
"Hey…" he spoke while pulling the other closer, shifting a hand to check for a pulse. It was light, fading slowly. "…hey! Tenete gli occhi aperti!"  
  
Forcing his eyes open, he glanced up to the other man's face, catching sight of a scar marring the other's lips. He rose his gaze up higher to connect with familiar deep brown eyes.  
  
He felt so tired, so weary and weak. Lowering his head again, he took his hand from his side, letting the blood flow freely while his hand fell to rest on his leg. Closing his eyes once more, he shivered as he felt the air brush over his uncovered neck.  
  
Now he knew who was holding him in his last moments.  
  
And he wished at this time that someone else had found him instead. Perhaps that guard that lie still on the floor several feet away. Just so he could die proudly, knowing he'd distracted those bastards long enough for the recruits to get to safety and be dead before another assassin found him.  
  
" _Apri gli occhi, dannazione!_ "  
  
Yet, he couldn't. His senses went fuzzy, everything sounding muffled and so far off.  
  
" _Altaïr!_ "  
  
It was then that things went completely dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Gritting his teeth, Ezio shifted his left hand up and tore off his cloak. Carefully, he wrapped it around Altaïr's midsection, tying it into a tight knot with furrowed brows and trying to keep his thoughts in check. First he had to stop the bleeding, that was the first priority. Altaïr would not die so easily, would not give up as easily, and Ezio knew this for a fact.  
  
But this amount of blood he'd lost told a different story.  
  
Tisking, Ezio slid his left arm under the Altaïr's bent knees, grunting as he moved to stand. Readjusting the limp man in his hold, Ezio turned and made his way out of the bloodied church. Curling his fingers a bit as he saw people gathering around the massacre he'd left outside. Once those eyes turned onto him, covered in both his ally's blood and his enemies' blood, the gathering screamed, calling for more guards.  
  
Guards who didn't care about anything but their next salary.  
  
Ezio frowned and deftly made his way to get out of the crowd. He twisted his upper half and tried his best to keep from having someone bump into Altaïr's legs or shoulder, even so much as trying to avoid having him touched at all. Ezio needed to hurry though. There was no telling how much time Altaïr had before he would truly fall into the embrace of death.  
  
 _I can't let that happen,_ crossed his mind, furrowing his brows whilst the hood obscured the view of desperation in his eyes.  
  
Altaïr had come to be like a brother to him, they had become close after some missions together - missions that required high skill and stealth to infiltrate an area that not even some of the Masteros could handle. That and some of the high ranking recruits did not wish to tread into such areas.  
  
Some would say they were being smart, Ezio and Altaïr simply thought of them as greenhorns to such danger.  
  
Perhaps that had been what truly started their brother-like relationship.  
  
"Ezio!"  
  
Jerking his head to the left, Ezio blinked once he caught sight of a familiar face. Her elegant dress fluttering about her with each hurried step she took toward him.  
  
"Claudia...? What are you -" He cast a look down to Altaïr and grimaced when he saw that Altaïr's breathing was slowing. Ezio returned his attention to his concerned sister. "Never mind, we will discuss that later. I need to get Altaïr to safety."  
  
Nodding, Claudia turned and motioned back to where she came from. "My girls heard a commotion earlier. The Rosa in Fiore may be your best bet on keeping him out of sight for now."  
  
Even if Altaïr had made it perfectly clear a few days after they met in Monttarigoni that he was not interested in prostitutes dancing about him and touching him in the ways they had when they'd used them for blending purposes one day. Ezio supposed that's what the man was used to from where he hailed from. Still, he was sure Altaïr would make this an exception. Not like he could protest at this point in time.  
  
 _Come to think of it -_ pausing his train of thought, Ezio began to follow Claudia to the brothel.  
  
The thoughts and questions about Altaïr's personal life could wait until later. Either when he woke up or whenever he felt like explaining more things about himself.  
  
The  streets seemed more crowded than usual. Although that was probably because Ezio was in a rush to get to the Rosa in Fiore, get Altaïr down on a solid surface, find a doctor... Ezio's shoulder bumped into a guard, whom did not take kindly to it and hissed an insult.  
  
Which Ezio would have taken the pleasure in ridding Rome of yet another Borgia rat but he had more pressing matters to deal with. So, swiftly, he ducked into a circle of people when he passed the guard and the man simply followed just to try and knock Ezio down. The crowd stared at him with horrified eyes. Not that he could blame them. What with all the blood on both him and his charge.  
  
"I will leave in a moment, my friends," he mentioned, offering a soft, out of place, smile. With the look he was sporting, the smile made him look somewhat insane.  
  
So they dispersed.  
  
Sighing softly, seeing that the guard was gone, Ezio returned to where he was heading. Reaching it moments after Claudia had just gotten inside and immediately went to demanding the customers leave. She also gave an order to a few of the girls that they gather up some linen cloths. Basically barking orders for the girls to get this and that while threatening to beat the men bloody if they did not leave.  
  
With the urgency laced in her tone no one dared to disobey, seeing as the situation could be entirely serious.  
  
The girls gasped once Ezio entered with a panting Altaïr in his arms. The one holding the towels quickly spread them out on a couch and made sure to put more layers where the blood may soak into most.  
  
They did not need evidence of them having an injured man's blood on such expensive furniture. Blood meant freaked out customers, freaked out customers meant no service, no service meant no information on the Borgia's activities and so on. The assassins needed that information and so they did their best to keep things clean.  
  
"Percila! Get a doctor in here!"  
  
Letting out a soft squeak at being ordered so harshly, the courtesan quickly made her way out the door to go and fetch one.  
  
"Ezio, we need to get his -"  
  
"I know..." he ground out as he moved to untie his cloak from Altaïr's waist. "...just give me a minute."  
  
Finally getting the task done with a few mumbled curses and harsh yanks, Ezio let the blood stained fabric fall to the sides. Soon moving to attempt and remove the equipment that was becoming an obstacle from getting Altaïr's top off. Which needed to come off for the doctor to do anything. First came the hood, then the mask was slid down entirely to reveal the handsome face that Altaïr hid from the world of both day and night (unless he was eating or sleeping, of course).  
  
Ezio let out a soft exhale while loosening the guard covering Altaïr's stomach which, upon closer inspection, had been severely damaged and had a bare spot where the enemy could easily exploit and indeed they had. Biting his lower lip, the man loosened the sash and parted both layers that confined the body underneath the fabric.  
  
Although they had known each other for some time, Ezio had never seen his friend in this condition. Stripped, even to dress this wound, and vulnerable for the peering eyes to rake over the bare skin that was open to the world. Never had he wondered why Altaïr never told him much about himself, never had he wondered  -  
  
"-io? Ezio!"  
  
Shaken out of his thoughts, Ezio veered over to the one whom called out to him. He blinked once he noticed his mother was holding onto a linen cloth. Maria motioned to the injury that her son had failed to remember about while, she assumed, staring at Altaïr's figure. Nodding, he pushed to stand and stepped back while watching with a worried look as she pressed the cloth against the gash.  
  
If Altaïr made it through this, Ezio decided, he was going to send him to Antonio for a few weeks or so. Take him off of anything assassin or training novices related. Also requesting that the thieves not pester Altaïr.  
  
Glancing over to the doorway as the doors creaked open, Percila returned with a doctor trailing behind her. If he hadn't been wearing a mask Ezio was sure the man would possess a questionable look on his face as to why he was dragged to a brothel. But once the doctor's eyes turned to the unconscious man laying on the couch he briskly moved over and gently nudged Maria aside to inspect the damage.  
  
A few, 'hmm's and, 'possibly this would...'s before he finally brought some things out of the pouch attached to his hip and began to get to work.  
  
After what seemed like hours, Ezio was sitting on a couch opposite of where Altaïr lie, the courtesans having cleared the room about halfway through the process of the doctor stitching Altaïr up. Crossing his legs, Ezio slung his arms over the back of the couch with half-lidded eyes. He'd removed his hood once the stitching began and the dim light in the room showed the worry wrinkles he was surely developing from the events of the day. Yet Ezio continued to sit there, overseeing the proceedings.  
  
Finally the doctor stood, brushing his hands against one another then turned to face Ezio. "He should be fine after two to three weeks. Give or take. Though I would suggest that you keep an eye on him, make sure he does not do anything too strenuous. Least he reopen his wounds."  
  
"Si, grazie." Ezio lifted his right hand and reached for his wallet, his left pulling at the small rope that held it shut, tugging it open and looked up.  
  
"One hundred florines is enough..."  
  
Nodding, Ezio reached into his wallet, pulling out the exact amount then paused before he handed it over. He pulled out another fifty then, satisfied, he handed it over. "I cannot thank you enough, doctore."  
  
Taking what was offered, the doctor nodded and gathered up his belongings before leaving.  
  
Pushing to stand after reattaching his wallet to his hip, Ezio moved over to Altaïr's side and looked him over. The injury to his side had seemed to be the worst, in Ezio's opinion. Breathing out, he rose his left hand and ran it through his hair as he furrowed his brows before closed his eyes.  
  
 _A few weeks of rest, huh...?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I would post two chapters in case I can't get to it later. Way later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention in the last chapter that chapter three and four are flashbacks for Altaïr. This chapter is a little...stiff and rough. So I'll apologize for that right now. Though these chapters (up to five) were written back in 2011-12. So you might notice a difference in style when six finally comes around.
> 
> While we're on the topic: I didn't play Revelations nor did I read Assassin's Creed: The Secret Crusade at the time I was working on this. So whatever information is 'wrong' is on purpose. As I mentioned above. However, I _know_ that Ezio and Altaïr are not related in any shape or form.

The air was musky, heavy upon the body as if trying to weigh it down and keep one from moving either too fast or at all. It was the kind of day where no one would honestly wish to be outside, wanting nothing more than to stay inside and hide oneself from the sun's rays.  
  
That is if there was nothing to do at all.  
  
Three young boys were running about the marketplace with grins on their faces as two fled the one who was the 'Templar guard' for the day. Laughing and some taunts were tossed at the 'Templar.'  
  
It was a normal day for the three friends, chasing, playing, training...  
  
"W-wait!" a small blue eyed boy called out to the other two. "Slow...slow down!"  
  
Bluish-grey hues glanced over a brown clad shoulder, a smug shimmer in them before glancing over to his fellow 'assassin' and noting how the dark haired boy looked back at the younger with pity in his eyes. Both eventually nodded and stopped running, slowing to a jog then to a casual walk as the struggling third caught up.  
  
Panting, the boy placed his tiny hands on his knees, shutting his eyes and hunching over after taking a huge gulp of air. "...t-thank you...ugh...I hate being the 'Templar'..."  
  
"Mostly because you cannot keep up with us, Kadar," Malik teased.  
  
"That's not fair, brother!" Kadar pouted, lifting his head as he opened his and puffed his cheeks out in a pout. "I am the 'Templar' every time if I do not call 'assassin' fast enough." A kicked puppy look then crossed Kadar's features and Malik shook his head with a warm smile, placing his  hand atop the raven strands and ruffling them up.  
  
"But we are helping you get faster, no?"  
  
"I could not agree more with Malik," Altaïr prompted. Soon Kadar's puppy eyes faded into a full-blown laugh. "You can be an 'assassin' next time, all right?"  
  
"Hmm!" Nodding, Kadar tilted his head to the side and was practically beaming at the promise. He blinked as the grown-ups began to emerge from the shade before glancing over his shoulder to see why. The assassins were arriving from their latest mission through the wooden gates blocking Masyaf from the peering eyes of the outside world. "Brother! Maybe father is back!"  
  
A frown formed on Malik's features, brows slanting in an unsure manner before looking over at Altaïr whom didn't seem too interested in going to see if that was true or not.  
  
Since they've come of age they were torn away from their family, like every other child who's parent was of the Creed. So emotional attachments were not truly formed in any way. The Grand Master seemed to believe that such things distracted one from their duty and task. That love and kindness were a weakness anyone could exploit. And if such were true, then that spelled doom for either the lone assassin or his 'brothers.'  
  
The three of them watched the men pass on by, how emotionless their faces were, and watched at how they walked with such dignity yet the two elder boys noted the hint of sadness as a few eyes veered over to them for a moment then back forth.  
  
As far as they were concerned the only family they needed was just the three of them, together. No one else.  
  
Altaïr turned his gaze elsewhere, looking down upon Kadar, whom was tugging at his brother's sleeve and motioning and asking if they could go see their father.  
  
Blinking once he noticed Malik turn to him, Altaïr rose his hand and gestured that they go. That he would be fine by his lonesome.  
  
Nodding, Malik took hold of Kadar's hand and ventured to go find their father within the crowd.  
  
Sighing, Altaïr moved to walk through the small market, looking about and at the faces of men and women alike. Though the women's were covered, in fact, their whole body was clothed, as much as it could be without hindering the activities they had to do.  
  
Twisting his body to avoid colliding into someone, Altaïr made his way to the bench right outside of the gates.  
  
It was just a place where he felt free, one of the many other places he had to relax. Like a haystack, they were warm and comfortable, no doubt about that. Perhaps I should go to one later, he pondered, raising a hand and pushing stray strands of hair out of his face. Moving to pass the stand just before the gate, he briefly glanced over once he overheard two men conversing in hushed tones.  
  
Though their eyes told a different story than how their lips were moving.  
  
There was joy within the depths of their eyes and a smile on their lips. It wasn't until Altaïr saw one push the other against the wall that his eyes widened. He almost went to try to stop the oncoming fight - if that's what it had been instead of what he was witnessing now.  
  
Kissing.  
  
Those men were kissing. Soon hands hand begun to roam the other's chest and...  
  
Confusion was clear on his face, blinking a few times, as if unsure to believe what he was seeing. Perhaps his eyes were losing focus and saw something entirely opposite of what he truly was watching.  
  
Backing away, Altaïr turned his attention elsewhere, biting his lower lip and forcing himself to move forth. The first couple of steps were unsteady then he was walking just fine. Soon Altaïr was jogging before breaking out into a full sprint. Past the shops, past where he, Malik and Kadar had stopped playing the game, past the well, just urging himself to keep going even if he grew tired.  
  
To flee what he'd seen.  
  
To escape his thoughts that were reeling over the images flashing before his mind's eye.  
  
Sodomy.  
  
Those assassins had just started committing sodomy, a sinful act all in its own, something that would surly get them publicly harassed, embarrassed...  
  
Maybe even run out of the town.  
  
But, these were thoughts of a child, whom did not know what reality would befall upon those men.  
  
A gasp was torn from his lips as his foot connected with something to knock him off balance, causing Altaïr to tip forth and resulting in crashing onto the ground. Bringing his arms up, crossing them to break the fall somewhat. Only to end up grunting as his right elbow connected to the ground and his left hand pressed into the dirt.  
  
The impact had scrapped his elbow, blood leaking out slowly from the small injury.  
  
"Are you all right, child?"  
  
Blinking, Altaïr rose his head to peer up at a hooded man who was crouched before him with a worried look. He didn't reply for a moment due to his confusion before, finally, Altaïr swallowed and nodded. Though the man didn't seem too convinced by the simple act and reached out to tenderly take Altaïr's elbow into his hand, inspecting it.  
  
"...come with me."  
  
Being hauled up gently, Altaïr followed without another word and glanced over his shoulder to see that he had run into where it lead to the assassin's headquarters.  
  
_I should probably talk to Master later..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is _short_ , so...I'll be adding chapter five along with it. Six is in progress, so don't expect it for a while.

Altaïr's title had been stripped from him, ripped off like a band-aid that had just been placed atop a new wound. It had knocked him off balance and made him irate, hands having clenched into fists as the Grand Master spoke about how he should have killed him but decided he could redeem himself of the mistake he'd made at Solomen's Temple.  
  
Nine lives in exchange for his own. Nine men needed to die.  
  
Yet, it had made him wonder if the loss of his friend's brother was worth sparing his life for. Malik had not been pleased in the slightest when he'd seen him.  
  
No, he was livid and angry. He snapped at him, ordered him to gather information although Altaïr figured he could just go in and kill the men. Malik wasn't the least bit impressed at what he'd found out.  
  
Altaïr couldn't truly blame Malik for how he acted, pinning the blame of Kadar's death on him. In a way, it was correct. Altaïr was the one to blame for how brash he'd been at the Temple.  
  
It had taken five of the nine men's words to confuse him, as if there was more to this than meets the eye. They'd given their reasons for what they had done, at first seeming so orthodox then slowly it made Altaïr ponder on their words. Question if his actions were ridding the world of corrupt men or if he was the one spreading madness in his wake.  
  
Al Mualim had not been pleased in the slightest at his outburst about demanding answers instead riddles.  
  
Altaïr had never been so frustrated in his life at that point. He'd never fathomed he'd shout and demand answers from his Master either. It was then that he'd been shown the treasure that Malik had managed to bring back from Solomen's Temple. The 'Apple of Eden.' It was then that he was told the Templars were after it to destroy everything and plague the world. That they planned to plunge it into the depths of despair.  
  
Taking out Robert was a different story entirely. Yet once his throat had tasted his blade, the man had rasped out words, telling Altair that if he wanted real answers he should talk to the true leader of the Templars. His Master.  
  
Al Mualim.  
  
He'd gone back to Masayf to see his brethren turn against him and try to kill him. Eventually, after sometime during the struggle, Altaïr had reached the place he wanted to be. He stood in the gardens, twisting around to face his Master once he'd spoken. Al Mualim must have seen Altaïr reaching for his blade since he'd cast some sort of spell to lock him in place.  
  
When he almost had a blade pierce him in a vital spot, Altaïr had broken free of the Apple's hold, glancing Al Mualim's blade along his own with grit teeth. Altaïr's muscles had been tense during this battle, having to fight the nine men he'd killed, some steel tasting his blood and ripping his clothes. Though Altaïr had pushed the pain to the back of his mind, just as he'd been taught, and fought.  
  
He'd won.  
  
Altaïr held his Master in his arms, their eyes locked and neither daring to look away. Al Mualim spoke of how Altaïr would not be able to destroy the Apple as he claimed he would. Altaïr had risen his right hand, slightly trembling, before closing his mentor's eyes.  
  
Altaïr had been determined to break the object that had driven the man into madness, yet couldn't after he'd touched it.  
  
It showed him a map, it showed him many things...  
  
How Altaïr wished he hadn't touched it.  
  
It was slow at first, he would only touch it when he didn't know what else to do. He'd run a calloused hand over the smooth, yet rough, surface and it would glow softly before dragging Altaïr into the thirst for knowledge that never seemed to be quenched. Altaïr would jerk away but, before long, he'd linger longer. Soaking up whatever the orb had to offer.  
  
Altaïr had slowly become addicted to the information and he wanted more. He would only take pause to scribble down what he'd seen and learned on whatever paper was available.  
  
Not even realizing what had also been becoming attached to the parchment with each word and line.  
  
Maybe if he had, he would have stopped.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should've probably mentioned earlier about how back in the day I would have Altaïr's eye color be different on purpose to remember what plot I had for a certain fic.

Ezio was sitting on a chair across from the bed Claudia had recommended that they place Altaïr for the time being. His elbows were on his knees, fingers threaded together as his chin rested atop them. His eyes were halfway shut, gaze on his wounded comrade whom had resided here for a whole week. Due to the amount of blood lost and the drug the doctor had given, they only had few opportunities where they could get some food into Altaïr's system.  
  
Ezio hadn't been doing well either. He'd been troubled since the incident with the Reculta and had assigned La Volpe to deal with teaching the novices how to pick pockets without being noticed or called out on it by passerby.  
  
From what he'd heard, they were doing fairly well.  
  
Ezio closed his eyes, head lowering to then press his palms together, forehead resting against his thumbs. As if praying. He thought back on how he'd come to meet Altaïr, whom was breathing evenly at this moment.  
  
It had been a rather...interesting encounter to say the least. Though it made him ponder once again as to why -  
  
A low, pained groan came from Altaïr. This had Ezio look up, seeing that a pair of eyes were slightly open. Dazed and distant but looking right at Ezio nonetheless.  
  
" _Habibi_..."  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
Altaïr had told him once that he'd been married to a beautiful woman, whom no one could dare say they were even on par with. He'd told Ezio that she was smart as she was beautiful, perhaps the knowledge even outmatched that, and how he loved her with all his being. How he'd missed her, Altaïr would usually get a distant look in his eyes whenever he decided to grace Ezio with such stories.  
  
"No, Altaïr," Ezio started, only to see a small, pained smile grace Altaïr's lips.  
  
"...my Habibi."  
  
Ezio swallowed thickly. The poor man was probably seeing his deceased wife. His mind convincing him that she was sitting where Altaïr's friend was and waiting patiently for him to get better.  
  
"Altaïr..." He couldn't bring himself to say it and briefly considered that it might be best if he remained silent.  
  
" _I am sorry._ "  
  
Ezio lowered his gaze down to his hands and felt his chest tighten. He could only guess by Altaïr's saddened expression and tone that he'd probably told 'Maria' he was sorry. For what, he did not know. Nor did he think he wanted to.  
  
" _I...am so..._ "  
  
The pause had Ezio glance back up, hands tightening their hold on one another when Altaïr's eyes closed once again. His hand rested on his stomach, lightly gripping the fabric as his lips parted to breathe out slowly. Biting his lower lip, Ezio closed his own eyes, pressing his forehead to his hands once again. Altaïr had passed out and he, once again, looked somewhat peaceful as he slept.  
  
Unlike Ezio.  
  
Why did Altaïr make him uneasy like this? And so easily.  
  
Perhaps it was because Ezio had convinced himself that Altaïr had become his the moment he, literally, fell into his arms the first day they'd met.

* * *

**Flashback.**

* * *

It had taken a long time to collect and retrieve all the pages, but here they all were. Tacked down onto the wall once they put in their correct places.  
  
The codex had always been important. Not only was it an insight on how a Grand Master thought, worked and learned hundreds of years ago, but it also held information. There were diagrams and advice from the mythical object in which the Master had studied relentlessly. With the pages all together once again, carefully placed upon an inset wall and the object  known as the Piece of Eden in its holder did it begin. It could bring disaster that would trail on for years but it also had its moments that it wasn't really all that bad.  
  
With a second sight did the map amoungst the pages appear but so did threads of gold. The gold wasn't working around with the thick aggressive red lines though, they were like thread woven into the parchment behind it. With only Ezio looking at it in such a way did it become off-putting to the others within the room when the flat expression became confused upon Ezio's face.  
  
It was odd how he'd never seen them before now.  
  
“What is it?” Came the question but it was unheard as the gold began to pull together in the center of the wall. It seemed to answer itself as the Apple began to glow, silencing all other questions.  
  
As shape took into that of a human form, Ezio rushed over to the wall, preparing to catch whatever or whoever fell out. He couldn't help the sinking feeling that began to surface once said being had fallen into his arms, his eyes scanning over the body's facial features. Only to then have his breath catch in his throat once he noticed the scar marring the right side of the man's parted lips.  
  
Ezio's gaze trailed downward, only to regret it once he saw that the young man's body was barren of clothes. Naked as the day he was born.  
  
A flustered Claudia had turned away immediately, moving a hand to cover the side of her face to shield her eyes from the sight. Unlike his niece, Mario had removed his cape, moving closer to his nephew and draping it over the naked figure. He had paused, studying the man's face before shaking his head and gesturing for Ezio stand so they could at least get the passed out individual away from everyone's stunned and awkward stares.  
  
Silently agreeing, Ezio stood and held the man closer to his chest. All the while making sure he wasn't touching anywhere inappropriate.  
  
Turning, he'd made his way upstairs, following his uncle to an empty room to then set the unconscious man down once the covers were pulled back. Carefully, slowly, watching as the stranger shifted slightly, fingers twitching. Other than that, he was perfectly still. Both Mario and Ezio had left once Ezio settled the covers atop the newcomer.  
  
After a day, Ezio had been woken up in a rather interesting matter.  
  
His sister was screaming and spouting out something close to, "Calm down, I am not here to hurt you!" A loud crash had been the response to that and a terrified shriek followed soon after. Whatever remnants of sleep were soon gone. Ezio had vaulted himself out of bed at that, reaching out to grab the nearest weapon within reach and had rushed to where Claudia was. Skidding to a stop in the doorway, Ezio glanced around and soon saw that Claudia was backed into a corner by the -  
  
_Dio...we could have at least dressed him..._ had crossed his mind before taking a step into the room.  
  
"Unhand her," Ezio growled, pleased once the man had let go of his sister's wrist. Though once he caught sight of a shard from a, he assumed, broken vase, Ezio frowned. "Calm yourself, Signore. We mean you no harm."  
  
Grey-blue eyes locked onto his own, the man looking rather confused.  
  
Oh, lovely, the man didn't understand him. Which meant that the foreigner probably thought that Claudia was threatening him instead of trying to calm him down.  
  
Ezio held up his dagger, noting how seeing it had the other man tense, then turned and slowly put it down with his eyes still on the nameless man. The tension had vanished and Ezio was relieved when his gesture was then followed.  
  
Only to immediately regret the relief once the naked man lunged at him and tackled him to the ground.  
  
Hands had wrapped around Ezio's neck, nearly choking him and Ezio struggled underneath the man straddling him. Whom was speaking in some odd language Ezio didn't understand. Most likely demanding to know where he was or something along those lines. It was a little hard to focus due to the lack of oxygen to his brain.  
  
Surprisingly, all it took was his uncle coming in and saying something that sounded like, "Altaïr," that then had the man's gaze raise to look up at Mario. The hands soon loosening their hold after whatever his uncle had said. Even if it had flown over Ezio's head since he had a naked man on him and Claudia's face was the darkest red a face could get.  
  
As long as Mario had managed to calm the foreigner down, Ezio did not care in the slightest what he'd said.  
  
Eventually they, Mario and Ezio, had managed to get Altaïr in some clothes. Mostly trials and errors until Altaïr was satisfied with what he was wearing. Claudia had been excused earlier and, surprisingly, the clothes she'd dropped had been what he had decided was worth wearing. Once that was finished, Ezio rose a hand to rub his face from exhaustion.  
  
Perhaps Altaïr had felt bad for attacking her.  
  
After the whole incident of trying to communicate with Altaïr, trying to get his real name - Ezio was still a little skeptical despite Mario's reassurances - and figure out how he'd gotten there, Ezio had decided to leave that task to his uncle while he went about to do his business. Said business being Claudia's upcoming birthday.

* * *

**End flashback.**

* * *

Poor Claudia, her birthday had been a disaster. Not only was it ruined but they'd lost a home, again, and another member of the family.  
  
Ezio's right hand immediately moved to rub his face as his throat tightened, a shaky breath passing his lips once the image of Mario's decapitated body falling to the ground in a pool of blood and his head being thrown towards him. How lifeless those eyes had been, how his uncle had been so kind to them, had trained him, taken a fledgling under his wings and taught him all he knew.  
  
How disgraceful Ceasare had been to him.  
  
Ezio's hand lowered slightly, taking hold of his shirt while closing his eyes, the mirth of oncoming tears trying to claw their way to the surface. He sucked in a breath, left hand holding onto his pantleg. Ezio trembled from the memory.  
  
Dear God, what he wouldn't give to just go back and having killed Rodrigo instead of sparing him. Oh, how he'd wanted to. Ezio wanted to stab the man a million times over, rip his guts from him while the man was alive. Just so Rodrigo could watch as his life was being taken from him. To agonize and plead...  
  
Ezio opened his eyes slowly, raising his head to look over to the bed where Altaïr lie. He blinked once he noticed how the room had gotten darker and to see his mother sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping Altaïr's brow with a rag. This had Ezio ponder just how long he'd been thinking, drifting down into what should have been happy thoughts to then fall into a dark abyss.  
  
"M...madre..." Ezio swallowed, raising a hand to wipe away the small trails that escaped tears left behind. "When did -"  
  
"I have been here for a while, dear." Maria rose her hand that was holding the cloth, looking over at her son with a soft smile. "You've barely moved from that chair. Why don't you go for a walk? I will send word if Altaïr's condition worsens."  
  
Ezio ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his hood off in the process. He thought the suggestion over and eventually came to the conclusion that, yes, that may be a wise thing to do instead of worry himself to death. It's not like the guards were clever enough to figure out that the brothel was housing an injured assassin. Ezio rested his right hand on the arm of the chair, pushing up to stand with a nod directed towards his mother.  
  
"You are right. I...should go for a walk."  
  
A smile was his response before Ezio turned on his heel, making his way to the door to open it. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Ezio offered his own smile before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.  
  
Once her son was gone, Maria had set the rag down with a soft exhale. She turned her attention to the unconscious form.  
  
"We have lost many from this fight," she started, eyes falling halfway shut as she reached out to lightly take hold of Altaïr's hand, "please Lord, do not take this one yet. My bambino still needs him..." Maria tightened her grip slightly, releasing a slow breath. "...he is Ezio's closest friend and I cannot bear for him to lose him as we did Mario."  
  
This had become a reoccurring prayer she'd started when she had first been alone with Altaïr. When she and Claudia had managed to pry Ezio away and redirect him to more important tasks.  
  
Maria could understand why Ezio was having a hard time dealing with this. After all, with the loss of Mario Auditore a couple of months ago it probably still haunted him. Maybe it would break her son beyond the point of repair if he lost someone else, all of these deaths piling up on his shoulders. Weighing him down more now than ever.  
  
"...he'll be so relieved when you fully awaken, Altaïr. There is no mistaking that."


End file.
